 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
PSYCHE AT SCHOOL.
Young Psyche came to school,
Down here in Being's lower vestibule,
Where many voices unto her did call,
“Welcome! be studious! and in Mammon's hall
Shalt thou cup-bearer be to Mammon-King.”
Thought Psyche, “No such thing!”
Down here in Being's lower vestibule,
Where many voices unto her did call,
“Welcome! be studious! and in Mammon's hall
Shalt thou cup-bearer be to Mammon-King.”
Thought Psyche, “No such thing!”
A volume Pleasure brought,
Of glowing pictures in earth-colors wrought.
Temptation's alphabet in ambush lay
Among the leaves; but Psyche turned away,
And said, “Those tints are mixed with poisonous paint;
It makes me sick and faint.”
Of glowing pictures in earth-colors wrought.
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Among the leaves; but Psyche turned away,
And said, “Those tints are mixed with poisonous paint;
It makes me sick and faint.”
Then one approached, called Love,
Whose fingers o'er illumined print did move.
Psyche looked on and sighed: “The page is vext;
Your notes and your translations mar the text.
The angels write Love's idioms on the heart;
They are not learned by art.”
Whose fingers o'er illumined print did move.
Psyche looked on and sighed: “The page is vext;
Your notes and your translations mar the text.
The angels write Love's idioms on the heart;
They are not learned by art.”
Pride took an ancient book,
To teach the high-bred air, the scornful look.
Psyche returned her gaze with meek surprise,
And said, “Mine are not glass, but real eyes,
And will not stare like dead men's; since I see,
I cannot learn of thee.”
To teach the high-bred air, the scornful look.
Psyche returned her gaze with meek surprise,
And said, “Mine are not glass, but real eyes,
And will not stare like dead men's; since I see,
I cannot learn of thee.”
“The child rebels,” said Pride,
“Now be the lash by some rough teacher plied.”
Then Poverty her rudest blows did give;
Said Psyche, “Pain assures me that I live.
My robes are torn; but courage, faith, and love,
My triple mail I prove.”
“Now be the lash by some rough teacher plied.”
Then Poverty her rudest blows did give;
Said Psyche, “Pain assures me that I live.
My robes are torn; but courage, faith, and love,
My triple mail I prove.”
Grief brought a scroll, writ o'er
With ink of nightshade and of hellebore.
Its damps were rainbows under Psyche's smile.
Despair with black tome open stood the while,
But said, “Her eyes would make the page too bright,”
And stole away from sight.
With ink of nightshade and of hellebore.
Its damps were rainbows under Psyche's smile.
Despair with black tome open stood the while,
But said, “Her eyes would make the page too bright,”
And stole away from sight.
A guest undid the gate;
One who expects no welcome, soon or late.
Then Psyche took the parchment that he bore,
And whispered, gliding by him through the door,
“Kind Death, best friend! 't is my diploma given;
A graduate for heaven.”
One who expects no welcome, soon or late.
Then Psyche took the parchment that he bore,
And whispered, gliding by him through the door,
“Kind Death, best friend! 't is my diploma given;
A graduate for heaven.”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |